


Stolen Pajamas

by sainnis



Series: Medschool Boys [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishida shouldn't patrol when he has the flu, and Ichigo is a bit of a thief.</p>
<p>The first story in the Medschool Boys series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Pajamas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nehalenia on LJ.

If it hadn’t been for Ichigo, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. He would have been home in bed with a steaming mug of tea, cough drops and tissues at the ready, dutifully reading from Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine, 17th Edition. He would have read the assigned chapters, made careful notes, and then retired early, because really, nothing helps get rid of a cold faster than a good night’s sleep (which, incidentally, it didn’t take a medical textbook to figure out). 

If not for Ichigo, he definitely wouldn’t have been standing beneath a broken streetlight in the pouring rain with four Hollows bearing down on him. He wouldn’t have missed the fifth Hollow attacking from behind. He wouldn’t have gotten hit, and he certainly wouldn’t have lost consciousness immediately upon impact with the concrete wall.

Whenever things went badly, Ishida found, it was a safe bet to blame a shinigami.

**

There were fingers pressed against his throat when he came to, points of warmth on his cold skin. His face was wet; it was still raining. He blinked, waiting for the world to come into focus, but it didn’t. “Glasses?” The word came out very nearly as a plea.

“I think they’re the only part of you that didn’t hit that wall.” Ichigo’s voice sounded near his ear, and a moment later, Ishida felt his hands brush against his face as Ichigo slipped the glasses carefully onto his face. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to forget tonight. You’re in no shape to be out here.” 

Ishida tried to lift his head and groaned before abandoning the effort. “Patrolling alone,” he said, exhaling to allow his brain a moment to construct a complete sentence, “is a bad idea.”

“Don’t try to move.” Ichigo’s voice was quiet, his hands gentle along Ishida’s body as he checked for injuries. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m all right,” Ishida said, wincing as he started to push himself into a sitting position.

“I said don’t move, dumbass! You’re not all right. You could have a spinal injury.” Ichigo forced him back down, and Ishida relented, head spinning. 

“I don’t have a spinal injury. I have a concussion. Big difference.” He closed his eyes, willing the pain behind them to subside. 

“You’re bleeding.” Ichigo held up his hand, fingertips smeared with blood. 

Ishida reached up and touched the cut on his forehead, feeling along the edges of the wound. “It’s nothing.”

Ichigo’s hand pressed lightly against his cheek. “Idiot. You still have a fever. You’re going to end up with pneumonia at this rate. I told you to stay in bed.”

A half-smile made Ishida’s lips twitch. “When do I ever listen to you?”

Muttering a string of curses, Ichigo slowly rose to his feet. “We should call your father—“

“No!” 

“Then I’ll call my father.”

“No.” Ishida opened his eyes. “Just take me home.”

Ichigo sighed. “There are people with completed medical degrees available that we’re not related to. People with CT scanners to make sure you haven’t broken your freaking head.”

“In the grand scheme of injuries that I’ve experienced so far in my life, this is nothing. Don’t get so worked up.”

“You need a doctor.” 

“You’ll be one in a couple years. Good enough for me.” Ishida caught Ichigo’s hand, pressing it to his lips. “Home. Let’s go.”

“Ishida—“

Ishida pushed his hands flat against the ground, forcing himself to sit upright. “Nothing’s broken. I’ll be okay.” He felt his glasses slide slightly forward on his nose, and he looked up at Ichigo over the rims. “Please. Take me home.” 

After a few moments, he felt Ichigo take his hand, gently helping him to his feet. “Fine. But my place is closer.”

**

Ishida leaned heavily on Ichigo’s shoulder as they stepped inside out of the rain. “Place looks nice.”

A pizza box crunched under Ichigo’s feet, and he kicked several empty bottles of beer out of their way. “Shut up.”

After making their way slowly down the hallway to Ichigo’s bedroom, he used his elbow to bump the light switch. Ishida blinked against the brightness, following Ichigo’s lead until he reached the bed.

“Sit down. Just be careful not to sit on me.” Ichigo shoved his body over on the mattress to give Ishida more room, and then crossed the hall to pull a towel out of the linen closet, pressing it to Ishida’s head. “You’re getting blood everywhere.”

Ishida hissed at the sudden pressure against his wound. “I still don’t get why you think it’s a good idea to leave your body in here like this.”

“You think it’s safe with Kon? Hell, no. It was one thing when I was in high school…university is another.” Ichigo walked around the other side of the bed and returned to his physical form. He stretched his arms behind his head, and Ishida heard his shoulder pop. “He’d get me kicked out in less than an hour.”

“Arrested, more likely.”

“No kidding.” Ichigo got up and started looking through a laundry basket on the floor, pulling out some clothes. “Take off your uniform. You’re drenched.”

“I don’t have anything to wear here. You barely let me leave a toothbrush.”

Ichigo grinned as he held up a pair of scrubs. “Here. Freshly laundered and everything.”

Ishida put aside the towel from his forehead for a moment, picking up the scrubs. “You stole these.”

“I didn’t steal them. They’re free.”

Ishida pointed at the tag. “This says Karakura General Hospital.”

“I know. They were a gift.”

“From whom?”

“These are from the ortho nurses. They’re really generous. I’ve got a bunch from radiology too. There’s always some in the second floor closet of the ER anyway.”

“You’re stealing scrubs from my father.”

“Not from him personally.”

“And you’re wearing them as pajamas.”

“Well, when you think about how much scut work we do on his behalf, I’d say he owes us some free pajamas. It’s bonus that they’re also business wear.”

“If he ever catches you, he will make you very sorry.”

Ichigo snorted. “I highly doubt that’s the first offense on his list where I’m concerned.” He started undoing the fasteners at Ishida’s collar, and the cool air against his wet skin made Ishida shiver.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Renji said he’d back me up since you were sick.” Ichigo’s fingers were warm as they brushed against his skin, helping him out of his uniform.

“Renji’s always late.” Ishida awkwardly pulled the scrub shirt over his head, trying to avoid smearing blood on it. Unlike the pressed, pristine scrubs he always wore to the hospital, these were slightly wrinkled and at least a size too big. He rose to his feet unsteadily to take off his pants and shoes, and Ichigo caught him securely by the shoulder. “And I’m not that sick.”

“Just lie down before you fall down.”

Ishida winced as he lay down on his back, pressing the towel against his head again. “Damn cut won’t stop bleeding.”

“It probably needs a few stitches.” Ichigo returned to his closet and pulled out a duffel bag.

“Don’t tell me. It’s full of medical supplies stolen from my father.”

Ichigo snorted. “Please. I’m not stupid enough to steal that from him.” He unzipped the bag, looking through the contents. “I only steal supplies from my father. His inventory is always a mess; he’ll never know. Besides, what’s a few suture kits and a few vials of lidocaine between family members?”

“Your family is bizarre.”

“You’re one to talk.” 

Ishida felt Ichigo take his wrist, and he frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking your vitals.”

“Why?"

“Because it’s what we’d do at the hospital. But you won’t let me take you there, so I’m doing it instead.”

“My vitals are fine. Just stitch me up.”

“People who hit their heads make bad decisions. Now shut up and let me make sure you’re okay.”

Ishida rolled his eyes, but he submitted to Ichigo’s examination, if only to keep the shinigami from whining. It was mildly annoying that the medical student who most threatened Ishida’s first place rank was also his lover, but it was also rather convenient to have someone he trusted to deal with his injuries. 

“Well, Kurosaki? Am I stable enough to get a few stitches, or are you going to have put me on a cardiac monitor?”

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m just being careful.” He put away his equipment, and then reached for a bottle of ibuprofen. “For your fever. It’s still 103.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s almost five degrees above normal. Take the damn pills.” Ichigo pulled on gloves and cleaned the wound. “This isn’t as deep as I thought.”

Ishida swallowed the pills dry as Ichigo prepared the syringe. “I really could do the stitching myself. I have before, you know.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Just make them straight and perfectly spaced.”

“I have done stitches before.”

“On cadavers,” Ishida said, and winced when Ichigo injected the lidocaine into his forehead. “You’re supposed to tell me before you do that.”

Ichigo gave him a grin. “People always tense up when they know it’s coming.”

“You have the bedside manner of a troll.”

“You shouldn’t make me laugh before I stick a needle in your face,” Ichigo said as he sat next to Ishida on the bed, and Ishida could feel the warmth of the shinigami's thigh where it pressed against his hip. 

Ishida sighed, and then spoke. “It was kind of you to bring me here. My father—“

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Ichigo removed the needle from the sterile kit, and once he was certain the painkiller had taken affect, he started stitching.

“I still have studying to do tonight,” Ishida said quietly, thinking of his books sitting by his bed at home. 

Ishida saw the glint of the needle in the light as Ichigo brought it up, the suture pulling taut. “Are you insane? You’re emailing the professor and telling him you’re sick. This is ridiculous.”

“I’ll be fine by morning.” 

Ichigo snorted, his fingers moving deftly. “You’ll still have a mild concussion, four—make that five—stitches in your head, and that flu underneath of it that half the students have. Did I mention a Hollow nearly ate you tonight? You’re not going.”

“You’ll go and take notes, thought, right? And you’ll write more legibly than normal?”

After tying off the last stitch, Ichigo covered the wound with gauze. “You’re a freak. The notes are all online.”

Ishida narrowed his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

“The point is, you’re not bleeding anymore, you’re medicated for the moment, and you’re in clean pajamas.”

“Stolen pajamas.”

“Clean is more important than stolen.” Ichigo put aside his medical supplies, and then spread out on the bed next to Ishida. “Just relax. You need rest to get better.”

Ishida took off his glasses, handing them to Ichigo, who put them carefully on the nightstand. “My bed is more comfortable than yours.”

Ichigo laughed, gently laying an arm over Ishida’s waist. “That’s because we broke it in so well.”

This brought a smile to Ishida’s lips. “True enough.” He pressed closer to Ichigo, seeking his warmth. “Thank you.”

Ichigo kissed his cheekbone. “I’m sure you’ll return the favor for me soon enough.”


End file.
